Crimson Blood
by The Spaghetti Incident
Summary: Gaara itches, and when he does, he knows he must subdue to his most primitive desire. He pushes too hard, blinded by the assumption of eternal fulfillment, and ends up sacrificing what he, secretly, treasures the most. M for SMUT! Sandcest! GaaTema!


Not as good as I hoped, not as bad as I thought.

**Crimson Blood**

* * *

Gaara sat on his chair, his back facing the door to his office. His turquoise eyes absently looking out the round shaped window. He tried to avoid it but, eventually, his thoughts were brought back to her once again.

He remembered it all too well. It had been engraved forever on his skin, the smell still lingering on his nose. He brought his eyes to his tingling hands, wishing he could feel the tenderness of her flash against his palms again. His tongue rolled inside his mouth and he grunted, as if he could still taste the remnants of her sweetness.

He'd have plenty of time to dwell on his recent achievement before that insatiable hunger would come back again – a hunger that could never be appeased at once. When the time would come, and he needed to act on his most primitive instinct, he would seek for his sister – all for the sake of his mind, even if it costed her sanity instead.

Temari would comply, always being within reach, ready for him. She'd wait for her brother, eager to provide solace. Her caring nature always desperate to take away whatever she could of his torment.

But he had gone too far. And now, he was left with nothing and it only enticed a feeling of anger inside of him – as if he had been deceived somehow –, even if on the external he appeared calm and composed, his features soft and controlled.

Once again, the time had come, and he had nothing to appease the whirlwind inside of him. Nothing like her, anyway. He had been left by himself to deal with the increasing, insatiable need inside of. An urge that, when not attended to, would start eating at him, driving him to the edge of insanity.

It demanded fulfillment. His body craved the feeling, the taste, the smell. The need ate at him, it pained his insides and disturbed his thoughts – changing how he viewed his surroundings. It had complete control over him, even if he didn't admit it.

He hated to think that, maybe, in those moments, he was terrified of being alone with his empty, hollow soul even if for just one minute – that thought being the only thing capable of making his skin crawl.

What did he have now? He pondered, unsure if that had been his own thought or Shukaku's whisper.

"Nothing," he though out loud – his voice stern and slightly trembling.

The answer echoed restlessly through his mind. Each time louder. Shukaku repeated it incessantly on his consciousness, driving its host mad with its feral laughing and clawing at his brain.

The beast knew Gaara's current unstable state of mind and used it against the redhead. Not for control, but for the sole purpose of fun. Taking pleasure in tormenting him – enjoying his misery and feeding from his relentless agony.

Outside his turmoil, he held a firm, collected look. He feigned calmness very well – learning how to master it over the years in charge of Suna. Gaara was not about to let that get the worst out of him. At least, not yet. He had always had a way of dealing with desperation.

He pressed his fingers against his temples in annoyance. Deprivation was starting to take its effects on him. He felt uneasy and incomplete. Now, it had to happen. He had to do it.

It wouldn't stop. He needed it, but he had no means to achieve it anymore. That unsettling inner feeling kept telling him he might have had crossed the line. He didn't want to agree with it, but had he? Had he really gone so far that he ended up jeopardizing his own wellbeing?

He begun to question his own actions. Not out of regret – he didn't regret it. He couldn't – or at least, he didn't think he could. His self-preservation instinct was the only reason behind the nature of his worry. After all, if Temari wasn't there, who would attend to his needs? Who would bend over to his wills? Who, if not her, could ever make him feel briefly complete?

Gaara leaned back against the chair, closing his eyes and inhaling deeply. He focused on the lacking feeling, as he felt the emptiness slowly crawling back to him, he allowed himself to immerse on the memory – from which he feed off in moments of abstinence – of that day.

_Gaara took his time, gradually savoring the memory of the last time they had done this as he waited for his sister. That's what he had done every other day, before that corrosive feeling had started to surface again._

_He held onto the remaining bit of that feeling for a while, until the yearning was too much. The hollow inside becoming bigger and bigger as he waited for another chance to appease it – even if just for a while. Then, he reached for her, desperate, as always._

_She had come, compliant, but apprehensive._

_"Do not keep me waiting." She heard her brother's familiar hoarse voice. "Never."_

_Temari swallowed hard as she made her way to him. She held his hand and brought it to the obi of her kimono. She kept quiet, looking him in the eyes, she offered herself, as if apologizing._

_His eyes moved to the fabric of her clothe and he slid his hand between its folds, trying to reach for her skin. Temari exhaled loudly when she felt his hand touch her thigh before going up and brush against her underwear as his fingers played with it._

_She reached for her obi, ready to undo it, when he pulled his hand and grabbed her wrists. He needn't have said anything. His eyes did it for him. He could do it himself._

_Temari slowly let go of the fabric, watching her brother as he started to loosen the sash. She shuddered when he pushed her kimono off, revealing her scarred body._

_Gaara thought she looked so beautiful, marked by his sand's – and his – rough caresses on previous encounters. He took in her sight, his hands feeling her in the most intimate way, descending her body as she shivered in both anticipation and fear when she felt the sand armor cover his skin._

_Would it hurt? She hoped so. She deserved nothing else – the filthy sinner._

_Gaara circled her around, eyes watching intently. He stood behind her, with his sandy fingers caressing the soft expanse of her back before going up to her shoulders, where his hand forced her down._

_Temari dropped to her knees and her brother bent behind her. He brushed his nose against her neck, inhaling deeply against her skin. Gaara could smell the fear that bred in her heart and it made his body ached for her._

_Reaching between her legs, he softly pushed the back of his hand against her inner thigh. Temari spread them obediently – that being enough for her to understand what he wanted. Her knees were still pressed on the ground and she leaned slightly forward to set her hands on the floor._

_He got up again, and she heard him set his sand jar on the floor and strip as the soft fabric of his outfit hit the ground._

_She was still unmoving, waiting. He knelt behind her and held her hips, pulling her body closer to him. He brought one of his hands to his dick and pressed it against her. Temari pulled slightly away from him when she felt his move, and he growled in response._

_His hand held her hip forcefully; his fingers digging into her skin as he pulled her back. She still didn't say anything. She never did._

_Gaara pressed against her entrance, but he slid up instead, rubbing her wetness against her folds. Temari grunted in expectation. She wanted to feel more, she wanted him to hold her lovingly – eager for some kind of caress._

_He moved against her almost gently, rubbing the tip of his cock against her clit before moving to her entrance. His left hand still held her as the other one moved to his own organ, to aid him as he pushed inside of her. And they became one – intimate, warm, and wet._

_She moaned, desperate for him – perhaps even more than he was for her._

_Gaara pulled from her and pushed back hard, breathing heavily as he did. He brought his right hand to the mound between her legs, and he rubbed his fingers against the tender flesh. The tingling sensation increased in her lower abdomen and so did her breathing pace as he kept moving against her in combination with the movements of his fingers._

_She made noises, and he loved them – for some unknown reason to him. His arousal clear as his sand begun to swirl around them. It trailed its way through her arms to her body, sliding like a serpent, hungry for her._

_The rough sand cut several thin lines through her skin as it explored her body, and she whimpered each time. Not enough to incapacitate her, just enough to bathe on her blood. Despite the burning pain, she was still soaking – his hand never once leaving its place between her thighs, constantly stimulating her._

_His sand pushed her arms apart, unbalancing her, and Gaara pressed his hand on her mid-back, pushing firmly her upper body against the floor as she kept on her knees with her bottom mid-air for him and he bent over her, his body covering hers completely._

_Gaara never ceased his thrusts. He pulled and pushed hard against her, jerking her body back and forth as his sand kept crawling on her, scratching when it wasn't cutting. His hand left her hip and gripped her hair instead, pulling it up, revealing her neck._

_Biting the side of her neck, he pulled the skin between his demon shaped teeth. He wanted to hear it, but he couldn't risk it, so he brought his hand to her mouth immediately as his teeth pierced her flesh, and he shivered at her muffled scream, groaning hoarsely against her._

_The fragile skin teared under his sharp teeth. Blood sipped onto his tongue and dripped down her neck. The iron taste flooded his mouth and he rolled his tongue over the punctured flesh, dipping on sweet, crimson blood._

_He needed that, he longed for that. It had felt like years since the last time. He craved it day and night and he suffered in silence as it slowly ate away at him. It was a torment. He had felt empty, incomplete, as if a part of him had been missing. As if he would never be whole again unless he subdued to that – even if deep inside he knew, eventually, it would all come again after._

_Now he savored her as if it were the last time – and it was, even if he didn't know that._

_She tried to recoil instinctively. Her body tensed in response to his aggression, but his fingers still worked skillfully on her most sensitive part. She thought that wasn't necessary. The sound of his eager breathing alone was enough to arouse her._

_Gaara wanted fulfillment, and so did she. The disturbing notion of being fucked by her little brother only added to her sick pleasure. She did feel disgusted at herself, but she also couldn't really bring herself to care about it when he thrusted so hard into her._

_His dick throbbed inside of her. It pulsed against her velvety walls and she felt amazingly warm and firm around him. She clutched against his shaft, as if she invited him to stay in, forever. Warm, safe, fulfilled._

_Gaara brushed the tip of his nose down her back, her sweat smelled honeyed to him. His tongue slipped off his mouth, sliding over the skin, tasting the contrastive salty flavor. He licked along the line of her spine all the way back to the nape of her neck, where pulled gently between his teeth, a new unbruised spot on her flesh._

_"Gaara." She called between moans._

_The room was filled with the sound of their skin colliding against each other, his grunting and Temari's gasp for air as she fought to keep what was left of her composure._

_But he wanted more. More warmth, more blood. He wanted the red liquid that pulsed through her veins to embrace him. He wanted it to sink him completely into the stickiness of its red fluid, until he could feel it burning hot and blazing heat._

_Gaara slammed hard against her, almost ferociously. It was like he pushed the sounds out of her throat with each jab from his hips. He brought both hands to her hips, and she felt the sand start to cover his skin again. She shuddered at the thought of his sand armor. She knew what came with that._

_Pain. Plain and simple._

_That had only happened once, but it had been enough to leave her deeply injured afterwards. He had been overly violent that day – when he first tried such peculiarity. She had never experienced such pain, especially in such intimate way. After that, he never touched her through his sand armor again._

_Gaara could hear his sister faltering breath and he knew she was terrified. It made his heart pound in excitement against his chest. He would hurt her, and she knew it. She began sobbing and it steered a feeling of arousal on him. It made him feel powerful – in control of something for a change, instead of always dominated by his impulses._

_He pulled out of her, and she wanted to tell him 'no' – but she didn't dare._

_His sand didn't cover him completely. Just where he needed it to cut her._

_She flinched when he slid his hand over her. It felt harsh and gritty, scratching her skin hard as he moved to hold her by the hips. She gasped when she felt him rubbing against her entrance again. He didn't feel silky like before – the sand already covering his shaft. The grit against her tender flesh causing affliction and mild pain._

_Temari felt him slid his right hand through body until he reached her mouth. She noticed this hand wasn't covered in sand, still feeling soft as he dragged it over her skin, almost like he caressed her in pre-pain-comfort. He pressed his hand hard against her lips, and she prepared herself, both mentally and physically._

_He slammed into her, and his hand muffled her scream. He groaned into her ear as he felt the vibration of cry against his palm. Her instincts hit again, and she tried to pull away from him instantly._

_Gaara pulled her back to meet his thrust. He brought both his hands to her hips, digging his fingers on her, and pulling at her skin as he pushed his pelvis against her. His fingers pressed hard, the short, but sharp nails scarred the sensitive tissue under them._

_Temari cried softly. Every other shove from him making her groan loud in pain. She could feel it, dripping slowly between her thighs. Warm and sticky. It was blood. She gritted her teeth as she felt her inner walls being scraped by her brother's sand covered shaft._

_Its texture felt exactly like sandpaper and the scraping of it against her caused tearing and drew more blood, drenching the grits inside of her on her beautiful crimson color._

_She felt dizzy and nauseated. It felt like her breath was being taken from her with each of his rough thrusts. Her body shook in pain and she closed her eyes, feeling her consciousness giving in._

_Gaara stopped moving, still inside of her as waited for his sand armor to recoil from his own body. He felt the granules slowly slid over his skin, staining it as it left behind remains of his sister's blood, before vanishing completely into his sand jar. He couldn't feel much through the sand. There wasn't other reason for him to use that, other than drawn blood from her in such intimate way. That's why he only covered what he thought was necessary._

_He moved again, she whimpered, and he mumbled, needy. He could feel it again. Only now, it felt much hotter and clingy – her blood covering his most sensitive part now that he had removed the sand. He looked down where he connected with his sister, his dick sliding easily in and out of her, hidden in red. He felt ecstasy at the sight of it._

_His pale fingers locked on the blonde strands as he pulled her head back by her hair. He licked the oozing blood from the bite on her neck, smearing the crimson liquid all around his mouth before scraping his teeth on her skin, nibbling gently. Temari winced, turning her head to the side, looking at him with pleading eyes when she felt him pull her hair harder._

_She tasted like all layers of heaven, and he wishes he could drink from her forever – feel complete and warm inside, like she has slipped into him._

_Gaara locked eyes with his sister, looking at her in trance before kissing her in a passionate gesture. Their lips moved against each other's, and his hips thrusted slow and deep against her – like they made love to each other, instead of the actual crude violence displayed._

_He mimicked romance, and mocked love as he closed his eyes. Temari didn't pull away, and he pushed his blood-stained tongue into her mouth, pressing it hard against hers, sharing her life source._

_Gaara parted from her. Both siblings breathing heavily as they stared deeply into each other's eyes._

_"Can you taste the sweetness inside of you, sister?" he asked._

_She grunted with a slam from his hips, as if demanding an answer from her when she failed to do it. She shook her head in denial. He knew she hated the taste of blood. She hated its smell, its sight, ever since she was little._

_He pulled her lower lip between his teeth, biting until he broke through the skin, extracting blood. Temari gasped in response, retreating from him to escape the pain. Gaara pushed the back of her head, preventing her from making space between them, and closed his mouth over hers once again._

_Temari blinked her eyes, and the tears kept flowing down her cheeks. She could taste the metal on her mouth, from both his stained lips and her own injury. It made her want to vomit. But she'd rather have him force her own blood into her mouth than the other demeaning act he forced her to perform, under a threat, on a previous attack. Nothing as violent as his current aggression, but equally vile, nevertheless._

_Gaara brought his hands to her waist, pulling her up until her back touched his naked chest. The sweat between them made their skin cling slightly at touch. He thrusted against her, taking his fingers back to her clit. Despite the stimulation, she no longer felt pleasure. She had been completely turned off by the insistent burn inside of her. The friction of his constant thrusts only making the feeling worse._

_Scoffing at her lack of response, he lowered his hand between her thighs and brushed his fingers against the inside of it, staining his digits on the blood that covered her skin. He carried his hand back up through her body, painting its course on her with blood. He then took his fingers to his mouth and licked them, savoring her distinct flavor._

_"You taste even sweeter down there," Gaara told her._

_She sobbed at his words, feeling repulse at the repugnant act she'd just witnessed._

_The raspy sand made its way back to her body. It snaked around her waist, squeezing her, drawing a painful sound in protest. It scraped hard against the cuts it'd done before and made new ones as it swirled around her form. She bled again, and the sand soaked in her blood – absorbing it so Gaara could feel her in depths he didn't think possible._

_Gaara shoved hard against her and she whimpered. He grunted against her ear, and his voice still stirred something within her. She felt breathless, her body ached, and she was on the verge of exhaustion. Her knees hurt from supporting her weight for so long and her brain hammered against her head._

_Between whimpers and sobs, Temari muttered words – things she wished she could have said to him before. And her heart ached for love. She thrived sickly on being the first to ever make him feel something different, something deep and meaningful as he told her – as she knew too, she felt it herself._

_He didn't seem to pay any attention to it as he kept thrusting on her without a sound other than his growls, choosing to openly ignore her confession, avoiding the manifestation of his own feelings in return – if he had any._

_His moves became rough, violent. His hands pinched her skin with his powerful grip as he moved his hand and hips against her._

_Crying quietly, she brought her hands to rest over his pale ones and she pressed gently against them. She had long given herself completely to her brother, and she didn't regret it. Not even now._

_Did he want more? Did he want something different? She would give it to him without a second thought. She didn't mind. She never would._

_It had to end eventually. She had known it the moment it started. At some point, it would come to this. She knew her brother had been waiting for it. It had to be someone special – it had to be her. He had been waiting for her to accepted it herself. And she had finally done it. He seemed to realize that too._

_She didn't hate him, though. How could she ever?_

_Retrieving her hands from his, she sighed as she felt his hand make its way back to her bruised neck, closing around it. He pressed hard, constricting her breath, and she leaned her head back to rest against his shoulder. He let go of her hip and closed hands with her, intertwining fingers in what should showcase affection and instinctively provide comfort – again, for reasons he didn't know why._

_The tears streamed fluidly down her cheeks. Her protest never finding its way out of her mouth, trapped inside her throat._

_Gaara felt her body grow weak and he kept his hand closed tight around her neck as he quickened his pace. The tension inside of him growing, filling up until he tensed his muscle hard. She seemed to tense around him too, contracting hard against his phallus, and he grunted loud as he kept his thrusts._

_She spasmed at the lack of oxygen, but he never let go. She had welcomed his desire, but she panicked, nonetheless. The pressure on her throat brought more tears to her eyes. A weird, bitter taste filled her mouth, and she felt like someone had set fire to her chest. The sensation spread to her lungs, throat, and eyes._

_Then it turned to ice._

_Gaara pressed his hips hard into her, one last time, burying all of him inside of his sister with a smashing thrust. He felt his release all the way from deep inside, sensing the pulse and surges as it happened, grunting quietly. He let go of her hand and his free arm snaked around her waist and held her in a tender embrace, absorbing her warmth as he stained his body on the blood that dripped from her cuts._

_"I want to feel you forever," he whispered softly against her ear, almost affectionately – needy, in his own way. "I want to feel you everywhere."_

_Temari closed her eyes, embracing the welcoming darkness. She felt cold, as if he had stolen the warmth from inside of her, and her consciousness slowly faded as her body went limp. He kept inside of her, still holding tightly around her neck._

_He pressed his nose against her skin again, inhaling her smell. His mouth closed over her flesh and he sucked on it one last time._

_She still felt warm and soft. He wanted to crush her, to open her up and dive into her insides. He wished he could be forever, completely inside of his sister. He wanted to taste not only her blood, but also her flesh. He wanted to feel its texture soften at the contact with his saliva and dismantle against his teeth and tongue. He wanted to drink from her until her body dried completely._

_Sabaku no Gaara wanted things he would never have. Not anymore._

_He waited until he was fully finished, to finally pull out of her, dropping her lifeless body to the floor. She was gone, and it was too late to fully explore her._

_He only hoped he could forever remember her smell and taste – what she felt like, what she made him feel, and how she did it. And most importantly, the sweet, compassionate way her voice sounded whenever she directed it to him._

_Slowly, the warmth from him dissipated too. And just like his dead sister, he was cold again._

That night, Gaara had thought that the hollowness inside of him would finally dissipate. That he'd feel forever complete after satisfying his hunger in such a deep, meaningful way.

He had been wrong. It took longer this time, but eventually that feeling slowly crawled its way back to him, creating another hole where his sister's final sacrifice had previously filled one.

Only then did he miss her – when he reached for it, but there was no one there to appease his torment anymore. No one to provide solace.

He couldn't have helped it, and it would never go away. He was completely…

_Alone._ Shukaku laughed. His words merging with Gaara's thoughts as the beast kept its incessant taunts, mocking his uncertainty.

He wondered how long he could wait, unsure of when the next time would come – if it would come at all. He couldn't stop thinking what would become of him without it. What would happen to his mind?

The beast had told him that he had to find someone new – a replacement.

Gaara didn't like the idea. He didn't want to rely on anyone other than his sister.

Shukaku laughed at his childish behavior. The redhead was far past immorality, but he still resembled so much that scared little boy he once was – innocent and misguided.

_Let her go._

He didn't want to. He refused to, blinded by his unspoken, non-admissible love for her – dooming both him and the beast.

_You jeopardize us both._

He knew that. He would starve and languish, slowly and painful.

_It doesn't have to be like that. She wouldn't want that, now._

Shukaku gained his attention again, and Gaara considered its words.

The beast could be right. Maybe he didn't have to starve. He could seek momentarily satisfaction in the company of someone else – someone who could provide him with just enough to ease his torment.

But would anyone ever feel like her? Could anyone ever feel better? He doubted. No one would ever match her sweetness, her tenderness and compassion – her sisterly love.

After he'd finally tasted his sister and been in her company, he never again searched solace in someone else. And now, he didn't want to resort to that again. He didn't want shallow touch or mediocre, tasteless blood.

_You can find something similar._

Could he? Perhaps. He would have to give in to that urge, eventually. He knew that. Shukaku knew that too. The least he could do before that was get past his over attachment to his sister – it held him back, so said the beast.

And it was right.

Shukaku scolded him. He had acted recklessly and irresponsible. He hadn't even dealt with his sister's remains. Her body had been left in the chambers for several days, and Gaara hadn't gone back to see what mess was left of it. He assumed she should be rotting by now – her body all purple and bloated as he procrastinated her disposal.

It was nothing his Sand Coffin couldn't solve. All it would take was a hard squeeze from his sand, and she would disintegrate between the grits. Then, there would be nothing left of her. Nothing but the old, dried blood that would merge with his sand, and eventually, wear out and fade away, leaving no trace of her behind – nothing to connect her disappearance with him. Nothing to remind him of her, either.

So, he chose to avoid it. Unsure about how he would feel once she was really gone. Once there was absolutely no material proof she ever existed – other than futile objects that once belonged to her, and a single picture of the three of them.

Gaara was stuck between need and desire. He desired someone he would never have again – refusing to see past her death. But he needed to find another person who could serve him the way his sister did.

They didn't have to match Temari. They just needed to be able to fill – even if just partially – the void she had left when Gaara chose to hold her throat just a little longer. A void she would never again be able to fill. A void that, after her death, only grew unbridled and darkened even more his already vile heart.

_But she was unique._ And he knew that. He didn't need Shukaku demotivating him.

Gaara blinked his eyes, as if waking up from a trance, finally realizing its game. Was it trying to confuse him? Instigating him at first and then discouraging him after.

_Perhaps._

Why? What did it want?

_What do you want?_

Temari. He wanted her back. Beside him – bending over, serving, appeasing. Warming him up – with her love.

_No. What does that impulse, that deep wicked feeling wants?_

Complete destruction.

It wanted anything. Anyone to appease the growing ache. A victim to ravish and weaken, until it was ready for consumption.

It had to happen. If it didn't, the emptiness would grow and grow, until it took him over completely. And then, there would be nothing left of him too – just like his sister. He'd perish from the lack of human fuel to suppress his hunger.

A knock pulled him out of his thoughts, and he turned his chair back around. He looked up from his desk, watching as his former student came inside his office, ready to present the report about a mission that he couldn't care any less.

_You will have to make do with what you're offered by circumstance. _The beast had said it before. Gaara had brushed it off. It repeated it again.

Gaara knew immediately what it meant by that. It had to happen. It said it a hundred times. He thought it a hundred times himself. And that, in front of him, was what circumstance was offering.

He looked her up and down, ignoring her completely as she blathered about the mission.

Matsuri was ordinary, to say the least. There wasn't anything special about her. She looked nothing like his sister. Nor smelled like her, either. She didn't appeal to him in any way at all.

He could barely stand the girl, let alone the ones that would likely come after her.

It looked like he did regret it, after all. For an unknown feeling that had long bloomed very deep inside of him, he wished Temari was still there. She would tend to his desires – she'd give just what he needed. And, perhaps, he would love her in return – in his own way.

The beast tried to dissuade him again, telling him it was never about his sister. It went on deaf ears. Gaara knew it was her. It had always been her. She gave him love and compassion before anyone else did – she opened herself up to him completely, she let him have her and she warmed him up with her love.

He'd never feel the same again – not without her. And yes, he had gone too far that night. It was, still, undeniably, the best one he ever had. He could still feel her, and he couldn't help wondering how long it would last. Then, he'd have to move on to... _that_.

Was that what he would have to lower himself to, he thought as he looked at her in mild disgust. He wondered what Matsuri tasted like – that is, if she even tasted at all. Just the sight of her made him sick. She probably tasted like moldy, dried blood. Not Temari. Not even in her current state of decomposition she would taste like that. She was perfect. He just knew it.

He'd rather go back to the crumbs of his rotten sister than submit to simplicity – something Temari never was.

_Spoiled and childish._ The beast couldn't help but laugh at his reflection.

Despite his own protests, he refused his feelings, too ashamed to dwell on them any longer. Shukaku cherished on his display of weakness, laughing as the redhead tried to redirect his thoughts, avoiding the subject of his sentiments. Had the beast known its host had such a deep soft spot for the blonde, it would never had allowed him to press so hard that night.

Now it was automatically tasked with easing its host uneasiness.

And for the first time ever, the beast comforted him. It told him the many ways he could explore now that he learned the full extent of his desires. It took its time convincing him his sister hadn't been wasted – attributing a purpose to her death.

_Temari might have been the first, but she doesn't have to be the last._

And again, it had been right.

_**09/11/19**_

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I have another GaaTema story, called I am Machine. Give it a read if you want. (;

* * *

Sick, I know. I don't mind. Do you?  
I hate how this ended. I want to come back (in the future) and try to fix this.  
I also think I kind of lost myself between making Gaara care about Temari or not. It felt as conflicting to me as it probably felt to you.  
Some of the future stories will be less sick, others will be equally (if not more) gross. Be prepared.  
Yes, that in the end was a pathetic attempt at comic relief. Do not dare speak of it!

**_Please, review if you may. It's important to me._**


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